


Don’t you, though?

by e_katara



Series: Secret Agent AU [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Humor, Minor Character Death, Multi, Some angst, damsel!Bellamy, secret agent AU, secret agent!Clarke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-19 01:44:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3591672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/e_katara/pseuds/e_katara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was laughter in her eyes, and the way her face lit up was absolutely fucking magical. She leaned in, nudged him with her elbow. “Tell me something. What is 'this'? What do you think I want from you?”</p><p>He rolled his eyes. He was over the whole playing coy thing. “Don’t worry. You’re not the first girl who wanted to uh... Hitch a ride? After hearing about me from a friend. It’s happened before.”</p><p>*i'm abandoning this story. i like the writing, so i don't want to delete it, but can't write this ship anymore for a number of reasons. sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - Legacies

**Author's Note:**

> I got really, really tired of Bellamy being the one who knows everything and protects everyone and stuff in every single fic like I mean... I like it, I do, but it's everywhere!!! and I wanted to change it up a little. 
> 
> I really, really love the idea of Bellamy being a little helpless, a little hapless, a little clueless, and a little bit of a damsel in distress. 
> 
> An attempt at a spin on the body guard fic trope with a bit of role reversal. Took me awhile to find a way to make it happen, but I did. I hope you enjoy.

"Were you successful?"

"Come on, Kane, are you really asking me that?" She scoffed.

The man sighed and rolled his eyes. "You know how formal these briefings are, Agent Griffin."

"Oh, come on. You can just fudge the paperwork, can't you?"

"You know that I can't."

She arched a brow. "Can't? Or won't?"

He groaned. "Must you always be this difficult?"

Clarke offered him her trademark grin. "Yeah." Kane chuckled in spite of himself, and her grin widened, but she shook her head and humored him. "Yes, Agent Kane, I was successful. It was a simple retrieval mission. I got in, I got out, and I got gone."

"So? Do you have it?"

She reached down the side of her left boot and pulled out a long, thin parcel. She placed it on the table in front of him. The boot thing, that was something she'd picked up from her father. He'd always maintained that it was the safest place to store something, no matter how many people told him otherwise. But he'd never lost anything he'd put there, so no one argued with him too much. Marcus swore, sometimes, when he looked at Clarke, it was her dad was staring back at him. She was just so... like him.

He shook his head before carefully opening the package. He did not find what he thought he would, though. What he was staring at instead was a cheap heart shaped locket, not the microchip he'd been expecting. He looked at her, concerned, only to find her smirking.

She leaned forward and opened the locket, removing a picture that looked suspiciously like the stock photo that might come with a locket to reveal a tiny piece bit of metal. "The necklace was an extra safety precaution. If it were found, for some reason, I had an excuse. I could say it was a family heirloom or some cheesy crap like that. Totally unassuming."

"That's really why you did that?"

"Nah, I just wanted to see your face when you opened it up to find a crappy necklace instead of the advanced piece of technology you were waiting on."

Jesus. Of course. That was something else her father would have done. He smiled sadly, and she saw the change in his expression, knew what had caused it.

She bit her lip, stared at the necklace pointedly. "I've gotta honor him somehow, y'know? I _am_ a legacy," she said, and even though she was smiling, her voice broke ever so slightly. "I really need to make him proud."

His professionalism finally fell away. "Clarke... You have to know how proud he was of you. You were the best thing that ever happened to him. He thought you were the coolest, smartest, most talented kid on the planet. And he was right."

She stared pointedly at the desk, her lips frozen in that tiny, sad smile, and nodded. "I know. I do. I just..." She took a deep breath, "Some days really, really miss him."

"Me, too."

She looked up at him, biting her lip. "I'm sorry, but can you -- Can you actually fudge the paperwork? Just this once? I really need to -- I can't -- Please?"

He nodded, his heart breaking for her all over again. It had been a rough couple of years. So he stood up, walked around the desk, squeezed her gently around the shoulders and dropped a kiss on top of her head. She walked out the door, shoulders slumped, and he felt the hole in his chest that he'd been trying so hard to fill with his work open back up.

Jake Griffin had been his best friend their entire lives. They were family. Brothers. They'd grown up together, they'd gone to college together, they'd been recruited for ARK together. Jake had been a highly specialized field agent, with a talent for technology. He could do anything, but when it came down to it, if you needed a bomb defused in a field or needed a weapon neutralized or, really, needed any advanced technical work done in the field, he was your man. Sometimes it frustrated Kane, watching his best friend go out on some of the coolest, most dangerous, most covert missions, while he himself was stuck behind at mission control. For the longest time, he'd been so jealous.

Then, it had happened. Five years ago, Jake had gone out on a mission, and he hadn't come back. Kane didn't have high enough clearance to know exactly what had happened, just that he was gone. He hated himself for ever feeling jealous.

Later, as he rose through the ranks, he learned that it had been an assassination. That was all he knew about it, because the assassination hadn't come from inside ARK, and they'd never been able to figure out where it had come from. The unanswered questions sometimes threatened to bury him alive, really. So he focused on his work, because it was all he could do to keep moving. That, and keeping an eye on Jake's daughter, Clarke.

She'd been seventeen when Jake died, a member of the agency for two years. Too talented and too smart for her own good, she was a star on the rise. After her father died, she only rose faster. She, like him, buried herself in her work in order to keep herself distracted. He’d worried about her, but he knew her too well to confront her with it. She would talk about it when she was ready.

Turned out, it took her two years to be ready. And even then, she only spoke about it with him, and only while working out. They would spar (she was an astonishingly good fighter -- he won their matches only very, very rarely) and they’d talk in between blows. It had proved therapeutic for him, too. That was the closest either of them ever got to grief counseling, but it was somehow enough.

Since then, she’d become something of an agency legend. She was the youngest agent to ever gain level seven clearance, and she had a reputation for being a sure thing, no matter the mission. Younger agents idolized her, older ones resented her for surpassing them in rank. Covert ops were her specialty; going undercover, retrieving sensitive information, anything that required any level of deceit, trickery, or sneaking, she excelled at. Didn’t need a team, didn’t even really need a supervising officer. But she had one of each anyways, because it was policy. He’d had to pull a lot of strings to get the position as her SO, but he knew that anyone else wouldn’t be able to understand her like he could. It was a necessity. He kept their team small, too. Small, efficient, elite. One weapons tech, a biochemist, and a communications specialist. All young for their specialties, all the best and brightest in their fields. It had been rough, at the start, but eventually, they learned to operate like a well oiled machine.

He'd moved heaven and earth to assemble a team of the absolute best to have her back. She was the one thing in the world that his best friend had cared about the most, so he’d be damned if he was going to let anything happen to her.


	2. Chapter 1 - "I picked you out special tonight."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was laughter in her eyes, and the way her face lit up was absolutely fucking magical. “Tell me something. What is 'this'? What do you think I want from you?”
> 
> “Don’t worry. You’re not the first girl who wanted to uh... Hitch a ride after hearing about me from a friend. It’s happened before.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly had way too much fun with this. I kinda take the clueless thing a little bit far, but it was just so funny to me. Also, I really, really needed Clarke to kick some ass. And I know she and Wick don't really interact much on the show but i feel like if they did they could have a really cute friendship and. I couldn't help myself.

Bellamy Blake was not in a good mood. He was in trouble, and a lot of it, and he needed help. Which was why he sat at the grungy, run-down bar, staring at the wall in front of him and waiting. He didn’t know who he was waiting for. He'd had to call in so many favors just to get the damn phone number of someone who knew someone who could help that he was pretty sure that at some point in the process, he'd actually sold his soul. Finally, he'd gotten the digits and was able to make the call. He still couldn't believe who'd picked up, really. The voice on the other end of the line had spoken quickly and quietly. He'd been overwhelmed - they rattled off information, never giving him a chance to respond. When he'd finally been able to get a word in edgewise, he'd ask the only question the voice hadn't already answered. _How do I know I can trust you?_ The voice hesitated, before responding. _Here's the deal. I'll tell you my name. If this whole thing winds up going up in flames, I'll burn too._ Satisfied, Bellamy told the voice to continue. It was Jaha. Fucking _Wells Jaha_. How the hell a senator’s son got involved in sketchy shit like this, he couldn't even begin to imagine. Who the hell could he possibly know? If he hadn't been so desperate, he'd have rejected the offer of help on principle alone. But Bellamy knew he was in no position to be picky, so he'd listened to the privileged little punk when he'd said that whoever this person who could to help him was, they would find him.

“Blake?” The voice came from directly behind him, a soft, feminine rasp, and he turned to see a mass of wavy blonde hair and bright, assessing eyes scanning him slowly. She looked way, _way_ too prissy to be hanging around in a bar like that. That probably should have been a sign to him, should have told him that she wasn't quite what she appeared, but he was stressed as hell and had already downed a few glasses of whiskey, so his judgment was, well, impaired.

So, while he usually welcomed any attention headed his way from beautiful women, he tried to shrug her off. “Sorry, Princess, but I’m busy tonight. I’m waiting for someone.”

She quirked a brow, smirked at him. “Oh, really? How disappointing. I was so looking forward to this.” She climbed onto the stool next to his, inspecting her nails.

“Look, you're definitely attractive, and usually, I’d be totally happy to do this with you. Hell, I’ll even give you my number so we can set something up later. But I've got other things to be thinking about right now.”

There was laughter in her eyes, and the way her face lit up was absolutely fucking magical. And the fact that he was thinking of her as fucking magical said something about just how drunk he was. She leaned in, nudged him with her elbow. “Tell me something. What is _'this'_? What do you think I want from you?”

He rolled his eyes. He was so over the playing coy thing. “Don’t worry. You’re not the first girl who wanted to uh... Hitch a ride after hearing about me from a friend. It’s happened before,” he said, trying to reassure her. The girl was a fucking _babe_ , and he wasn't one to miss an opportunity. He'd almost added the word "often" to the end of that remark, but he felt like somehow that would ruin his chances. It was true, but she didn't seem like the type who wanted to hear the details of his sexual history. It didn't occur to him that this bar wasn't his usual haunt, and there was no way in hell that anyone who he'd had sex with would have known that he'd be in that place on that night. But Bellamy wasn't exactly known for his ability to think clearly under pressure.

She'd started laughing. Hard. It was a really pretty sound. “ _Ho-ly_ _shit_. You’ve got quite the ego, don’t you?”

“That’s... Not what you want?” That helped clear some of his drunken haze, and he felt the heat rising in his cheeks. That was embarrassing. Big time.

She smirked. “No. No, it’s not.”

“Then... What _do_ you want?”

There was a wicked gleam in her eye as she leaned in close to him conspiratorially. “You and I have some mutual friends.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. “This isn’t fucking Facebook. Why would you think I’d want to talk to someone just because we know some of the same people?”

“Jesus. You really are just that clueless, aren’t you?” Her eyes had gone wide, and her jaw dropped.

“What do you mean?”

“Wow. Alright then. Wells. Our mutual friend? The only _good_ reason some random stranger would approach you in a questionable bar? Because you have something to discuss,” she explained, with a heavy sigh.

Everything suddenly became much, much clearer, and his humiliation doubled. She was Jaha’s friend. The person who was supposed to help him. He was ashamed he hadn’t realized it sooner, but... Come on! She was tiny! Five foot six if he had to guess, and just sort of... Small. Soft and dainty and pretty and girly. Utterly harmless.

He couldn't wrap his mind around it. “Let me get this straight. You’re the one who's going to help me?”

“Yeah.” She seemed to be getting tired with just how dense he was.

“You. You'll help me. With the dangerous, potentially deadly thing I’m trying to do? The thing that’s already taken one life? More than one! Like, lots.”

She placed a hand to her chest like she was startled, gave a faux concerned look, “Oh, well, if that’s the case, then -- Jesus, dude. Yeah. It’s me. I'll help you. Do you _really_ think I'd get involved in dangerous shit like this without knowing what’s up?”

That put him on the defensive. “I don’t know! I don’t know you. You don't exactly look like the kind of person who knows how to deal with dangerous situations.”

She said, “Don’t you, though?” There was something unnerving about her, a smugness that kept him off balance, like she knew everything. "Know me, I mean."

“I’m pretty sure I’d recognize you if I’d met you before. You’re the kind of girl a guy remembers,” he mumbled the last part, feeling heat rise to his cheeks yet again. He really, _really_ didn't like how easily he seemed to blush around her.

“Who said we’d met before?”

“You! You literally _just_  said we’ve met before!" He was starting to get really pissed off with her games. "Will you please stop playing with my fucking head? I’m freaked out enough right now as it is.”

Her eyes softened a little, and she reached out to place a gentle, reassuring hand on his arm. “Oh, shit. I'm sorry. Really, I am. I just couldn’t help myself. You were just _so_ clueless. I just forgot that there was something serious going on here for a second. What I meant is that you’ve probably seen me before. _Especially_ if you’ve seen Wells. We, uh, tend to be together a lot.”

“What the hell are you talking about? You his girlfriend or something?” He told himself that he was just asking because he wanted to figure out how the hell he could have seen her before, not because he cared about her relationship status.

"Uhm...not quite." His sigh was not because he was relieved that she was single. It absolutely was not. He was just breathing, like anyone would. "Hold on, let me help you out here," she said, grabbing her hair, which had been hanging loose around her shoulders, and pulling it into a small bun at the base of her neck. Then, she shook herself for a moment before shifting her demeanor. She sat with a straight back, chin high, ankles crossed, hands folded delicately in her lap. And damned if he didn’t recognize her, right then and there.

“Clarke Griffin?”

She grinned, and he felt his heart beat a little faster. “Toldja.”

“Okay, hold the fuck on. Wells Jaha, the rich-ass, spoiled-ass, pansy-ass, son of a senator, has a connection that’ll help me out of the deep fucking shit I’m in? And that connection just _happens_ to be the daughter of that famous doctor lady?” She was right. Her mother often appeared alongside Senator Jaha, and their children never seemed far behind. Press conferences, public events, tabloids. The two of them were everywhere.

She dropped of the Miss Priss act, pulled her hair free, and, leveling him with a steady gaze, said, “If you don’t want my help, Blake, then by all means, let me know. I don't want to waste my time on someone who doesn't want me around. You should trust me when I tell you that I can help, but if you don’t trust me, or don’t want me to help, I’d rather know sooner than later.”

“I don’t want you to help,” he said. He was in trouble, but he wasn't stupid. Walking a girl like Clarke into a mess like his would just end up with both of them dead.

She gave him a long, searching look, and he felt himself getting nervous again, struggling not to squirm under her steady gaze. Her head tilted to one side, before she shrugged dismissively and turned to walk away. He thought she’d head for the door -- rich girl like that, she’d have to want to get out of there, fast -- but instead, she walked up to a game of pool that was being played across the room.

She rested her hip against the table and grinned at the players. “I call winner.”

One of the guys playing looked her up and down, shamelessly checking her out. “You sure about that?”

She chuckled softly. “Do you want me to be sure?” she asked, sending him a playful smile that made Bellamy roll his eyes. Ahh. So the rich little princess wanted to go slumming for the night. How sick was it that he wished he'd asked her to stick around and go slumming with him?

“Hell yeah, I do.”

He turned away at that point. He had more important things to think about than a blonde with a nice smile. Like the fact that as of tomorrow morning, he was screwed. Majorly. No chance he was going to get out of this in one piece. He was so screwed, in fact, that he decided that the only thing to do was get absolutely wrecked. So he ordered another glass of whiskey from the bartender and glared at the wooden countertop, trying to drown out the sounds of the bar, of the pool players, of the teasing, raspy voice that floated into his ears and echoed through his mind.

 

Two hours later, Bellamy was drunk off his ass, moping against the bar, and she still hadn’t fucking left. He could hear her soft laughter, the sweetness that was in her voice as she flirted with the overgrown frat boys who were hitting on her. The blond dude behind the bar was looking at him pityingly.

“Y'know, she’s good people. She’d be able to help you out. I don’t know what kind of help you need, but I know that she'd have your back.”

“What?”

“You heard me. She and I go way back. We don't talk a ton, but she comes by a few times a month. Sweet kid.” He was looking at her with a fond little smile.

"Princess over there? She comes here a lot?"

He shook his head and chuckled as he wiped a dirty glass. "You shouldn't judge a book by its cover. At least, not in her case. Yeah, she puts on the princess act when people expect that from her, but that's not really her. She's cool. Smart."

“Smart? You sure?" He glanced back at where she was still flirting with that meathead she’d been playing pool with. "I mean... Does she always pick up a winner like that?”

He snorted. “Man, she’s not picking him up. She’s waiting for the bar to clear.”

“Why?”

“Give it another hour, you’ll see.”

He didn't have anything better to do, so he waited another hour, still steadily knocking back drinks, until the bartender nudged him, gesturing towards the pool table.

He turned around to see her (Clarke fucking Griffin - seriously, what the fuck?) leaning into this ridiculous asshole like she wanted to whisper in his ear, but her words rang clear across the room. “I’ve gotta confess, I picked you out special tonight. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

He gave her a cocky, smarmy grin, “Oh yeah? What’ve you heard?”

She looked up at the guy through her lashes and Bellamy felt like he was going to puke. “I’ve heard...” she drawled, walking her fingers up the front of his chest and Jesus, why couldn’t he turn away?

The guy leaned in close, smirking. “Go on, sweetheart, tell me.”

“I heard that you like to harass women,” she said, her voice still sweet, then punched him in the gut. The look on his face was fucking priceless. “And, I heard that you’re not very good at understanding what it means when a girl tells you ‘no’.” With that, she brought a knee to his groin. “And you know what else I heard?” Her voice was still just as gentle, just as soft as it had been when she was flirting with him, “I’ve heard that you really, really need to be knocked down a peg.” With that, she slammed her elbow over his back. Then, she grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him out of his doubled over stance to hold his face right in front of hers. “Now, you’ve got a few options,” she said, voice going even softer. She sounded downright dangerous. “Number one? You can keep on doing what you’re doing. Probably not a good idea though, because I know of at least three bars that have security footage of you harassing women, and there's more than enough there for the young women in question to press charges. Number two, you can try going to different bars and doing the same thing you’re doing now, but seeing as how they’ve all been made aware of you, that’ll end in a lawsuit, too. Option number three? You can get the hell out of my sight, scramble back to whatever hole you crawled out of with the few shreds of dignity you have left, and start treating women with respect." She was snarling at him, and holy shit, that should not have been hot. When she spoke again, her voice was laced with venom. "Personally? I’d take that third option. But if you want to try your luck with the other two, be my guest.” She let go of his shirt and stepped back, giving him the opportunity to walk away.

Idiot that he was, he didn’t take it.

Instead, he lunged for her, muttering something about “fucking bitch” and “teach you better than to talk to me like that”, but before Bellamy could intervene (or, more accurately, gesture for the bartender to do so, because in his heavily inebriated state, fights were probably not a good idea), she had the guy pinned face down on the ground, holding his hands behind his back, her foot resting between his shoulder blades.

Bellamy heard the bartender’s voice come from behind him. “Buddy, I suggest you leave. Like, right now.”

This time, the guy took the advice, giving the tiny blonde one last hateful glare before limping out the door into the street.

Clarke watched him walk away before looking back. “Thanks, Kyle,” she said with a weak smile, walking back towards the bar.

He grinned, ruffled her hair when she took a seat on the barstool. “Sure thing, kiddo. Water?”

She nodded before turning to Bellamy. “You. Give me your phone.”

He looked up at her, confused. “What?”

“You are drunk as hell and in absolutely no condition to get yourself anywhere. Who should I call?”

Anyone he usually would have called couldn't know he was there. He tried to tell her that, but it came out garbled and incoherent, and she looked at him, brows raised. When he couldn’t get his mouth to form anything that seemed like an actual word, she looked at the bartender. “Wick, you still got that in case of emergencies deal set up upstairs?” He nodded, and Bellamy knew that he said something, but the words started to sound fuzzy, so he gave up on trying to decipher them.

 

A few hours later, he woke up in a small bed in a dark, unfamiliar room. There were two figures across the room, speaking softly.

“You alright? I know that must have been tough,” came a deep voice.

The responding voice was softer, raspier, pleasantly low. “Yeah, I’m fine. No worries.”

“Thanks, though. Fucker’s been making people feel unsafe for months.”

“I’m glad I could help.”

“I really, really hate to ask this, but I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks. Would you mind...”

“Yeah, I’ll stay with him. You go home and get some rest, Wick. I’ll lock up when we leave.”

“You’re a life saver.”

He heard the soft voice say “I know. You can owe me one,” as the world faded to blackness once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy's a bit of a chauvinist. You know he is. He'll get better, but he's not gonna get there on his own.
> 
> Also, Clarke has a zero tolerance policy for misogyny. Wick encourages that. He thinks of her as a little sister at this point and he's proud as hell. Their relationship is one I am very excited to explore.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Any and all feedback is appreciated.


	3. Chapter 2 - "Extracurricular Activities"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Give me your fucking money, old man. All of it,” he snarled through the black mask that covered his face. This was the third job he’d pulled in as many days, and he just wanted it over with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets pretty dark. Trigger warnings for mentions of violence and suicide.
> 
> Some insight into the deep shit that Bellamy accidentally got himself into.

Bellamy had never really been into politics. He’d always thought that it didn’t matter that much who was in office. The only thing that seemed to chang was how up front they were about their plans to screw him over. So no one was more surprised than he was when he realized that he actually really liked the job he’d taken working on Edward Steele’s mayoral campaign. He’d taken the job because it paid better than his old one, and he needed to take whatever money he could get to keep himself and his sister, Octavia, afloat. So when someone had showed up and offered him a job that paid double what he’d been getting as a cashier at the Bull’s Eye superstore he’d been working at, he’d accepted, no questions asked. He didn’t expect to actually enjoy the work.

Then, he’d met the guy who he was trying to get elected. Steele was charismatic, he was intelligent, he genuinely cared about people in the city. He had plans to fix all the shitty policies the current mayor, Cage Wallace, had put into effect that screwed over the poor and the working class. He was going to make the city a good place for everyone, not just the wealthy elite who could afford to keep politicians in their pockets. He would end government corruption and set the city on a path to recovery. But in order to do all of that, he needed to get elected. And to get elected, people needed to be able to see why he was such a necessary presence. That was where Bellamy and his team came in.

They were the campaign’s public relations team. Setting up rallies, spreading good word of mouth, helping with speechwriting. Making sure that everyone knew exactly how great Edward Steele was as a person, and how he’d be great for the city. It was a job that Bellamy was happy to do. Whatever it took to save the city, and, by extension, himself and his sister.

 

“Give me your fucking money, old man. All of it,” he snarled through the black mask that covered his face. This was the third job he’d pulled in as many days, and he just wanted it over with.

The old guy glared back at him. “And what if I don’t want to?”

Bellamy nodded at his friend, Atom, who was standing next to him. He walked up and twisted the man’s arm behind his back, hard. Bellamy smirked. “If you don’t want to give me the money, that’s fine. My buddy over there will break your arm, yeah. And then we’ll take the money whether you decide to give it to us or not. I was just feeling generous, figured I’d give you the opportunity to get out of this without the injury.”

“Fine. I’ll give you the money, you sons of bitches,” the old man said, and the man holding his arm let go. He walked over to the cash register and emptied it into the bag Bellamy was holding.

He and Atom walked towards the door. Before they left, Atom turned back and said, in an exaggerated faux southern drawl, “Thank you kindly, sir. I do hope you have a wonderful evening.”

Ten minutes later, they were in Atom’s apartment, masks off. “Was that cowboy bullshit at the end really necessary?”

Atom grinned. “No, but I always wanted to say something like that. Figured I’d take the chance while I had it.”

“You’re fucking ridiculous, man,” Bellamy groaned, rolling his eyes. Just like Atom to be a geek in the middle of something like that. “I’m getting really tired of doing this shit. I mean, I know it’s for the cause, so people will realize how bad things are, but it just feels weird. I don’t like acting like a criminal, even if I’m faking it.”

“I know, but desperate times and all that. And I mean, if what we were doing was really that bad, would the victims agree to it in advance? It’s not a big deal. Just a means to an end,” his friend reassured him. “Anyways, we won’t have to do it much longer. Steele’s poll numbers are going up. That means it’s working”

Bellamy’s hand rubbed the back of his neck. He knew it was all fake. The robberies, the muggings, all the victims had agreed to take part, because they wanted Steele voted in. But there was a knot in his stomach that grew with each crime they faked, and no matter what he did, he couldn’t get rid of it. He told himself it was just because he was doing things that he had to keep secret from Octavia, because that never sat right with him. Lying to her felt like a betrayal. But it was all for a good cause, so he ignored his own discomfort, and kept going. It would all be over soon.

 

Something was wrong. Over the past few weeks, bodies had been turning up. Violence was always pretty high in his part of town, and he wouldn’t have thought much of it, only the people who died had all been people that he and his friends had “mugged” to propel Steele’s campaign. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who was getting suspicious.

“Bell, dude, something real fucking weird is going on right now,” Atom’s voice came over the phone, sounding shaken. “We shouldn’t talk about it like this. Meet me at the bar tonight. Come alone.”

He told O that he was going out for a drink (not technically a lie), grabbed a jacket, and left. He got to the bar and saw Atom sitting at the table in the corner, drinking a beer with shaking hands and looking around nervously. He walked over and sat down across from him.

“What’s up?”

“Come on, man, don’t play that. You’ve heard about the dead guys too. You know that they were people that we robbed,” he said, leaning in across the table.

Bellamy glanced around quickly to make sure that no one was listening, before turning to face his friend. He spoke quickly and quietly. “The robberies were all fake. You know that. We have proof, too. There’s no reason for anyone to think we had a part in their deaths.”

Atom went quiet for a moment, stared at the beer in his hand. “What if... What if there was a reason. What if one of us did have something to do with it?”

He froze. “What the fuck are you saying?”

“I didn’t want to do it! I thought that I was just going out on a regular job with Murphy. Pretend to rough someone up, up the fear a little bit, push the polls in Steele’s favor just a little more. But when we got there, it was this guy that Miller and I had already hit last month. Before I knew what was happening, Murphy’d shot him in the chest, and he was dead. Murphy said that the dude had been getting cold feet and needed to be taken care of.”

A lot of things were starting to make sense, and the knot in Bellamy’s stomach returned with a vengeance, tightened. Before he could say anything, John Murphy was sliding into the booth next to Atom, slinging an arm around his shoulder.

“Hey, Atom, how’s it going?” The man’s voice was casual, but his face was set in a pointed glare.

Atom had frozen to the seat, so Bellamy stepped in. “We’re doing alright. Just getting a drink.”

“Lemme guess. My buddy here, he’s letting you in on our uh... Extracurricular activities, of the other day?”

Bellamy nodded. “What are you doing here, Murphy?”

“I just figured I’d check in on him. He seemed pretty stressed out the other day, and I wanted to make sure he was doing alright. Figured that if he told you, you might get a little spooked too, so it’d be best to check in on you both at the same time.”

Atom was still not moving, staring at the table with wide eyes. Bellamy knew what Murphy was saying. He and Atom needed to keep their mouths shut. If they wouldn’t -- or couldn’t -- do so, there would be serious consequences.

“You don’t have to worry about us, John. We’re feeling just fine. Real nice of you to check in, though.”

He looked at Bellamy carefully. “Alright. We tried to keep you guys out of that stuff. You two and Miller. Knew that you wouldn’t be too comfortable with what we were doing for the cause. Last week was kind of unscheduled. We were going to do a regular job, but I got a call that someone was questioning their devotion to the cause. Plans changed. Sorry you had to be there for it, Atom, I am. By the way? Miller still doesn’t know. Keep your fucking mouths shut around him. You alright with that?”

“Shouldn’t be a problem. We done here? I’ve gotta go check on my sister, and Atom over here was planning on coming with me. He’s been trying to get the guts to ask her out for months, and he was planning on finally doing that tonight,” Bellamy said. He needed to get out of there, fast. And he needed Atom with him, because he didn’t trust Murphy. Atom was a wreck, and if that greasy haired weasel thought he might snitch, he’d kill him, too.

Murphy smirked. “Sure thing, Blake. See you two at the next meeting then, yeah?”

“Damn right. See you then.”

 

  
Two days later, Atom was found on the floor of his bathroom with slit wrists. The police ruled it a suicide, but Bellamy knew better. He knew he had to do something to stop this, but he had no idea what, or how to get it done without causing suspicion. Something seedy was going on within Edward Steele’s campaign, and it needed to be stopped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not expect it to get this dark or this serious, but it happened. Future chapters will be lighter, I promise. I'm just trying to set the stage.
> 
> Writing this chapter was not a particularly pleasant experience for me, and I really, really don't want to go back through it for the purposes of editing, so please excuse spelling/grammar/awkward word choices.
> 
> The next chapter will be the introduction of what I am calling "Team Clarke" which I am looking forward to.


	4. Chapter 3 - Team Clarke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few years later, when she walked into the bar, laughing, holding hands with a dark haired girl, followed by a couple of geeky looking guys, Wick felt a weight lifted off of his shoulders. That was the first time he’d seen her look that relaxed in a long, long time. Any people who made her that happy were good in his book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant for this to be like, really, really brief introductions to each member of Team Clarke but it uh. Got away from me. Just a little bit.
> 
> So yeah! Introducing, Team Clarke: Monty, Jasper, Raven, and Wick. Enjoy!

**Monty**

People had offered Monty a lot of positions ever since he joined ARK. A lot. He was a talented dude, and he knew it. He’d be a great addition to any team. It was a point of pride for him. But honestly, he hadn’t really been passionate about any of the assignments he’d been given before this one. They had all seemed mundane. Beneath him, in a way. You wouldn’t know it just by talking to him, but Monty Green was very much aware of just how good he was. He didn’t like to put his name on anything that was in any way less than exceptional. Most operations executed by ARK were the antithesis of exceptional, which was kind of the point, really -- covert operations were supposed to be covert, after all -- but it bored Monty. There was no challenge in it. So when he got the call that he was on the short list to join one of the most prestigious teams in the agency, he leapt at the opportunity.

Now, he was starting to feel nervous. He hadn’t prepared at all, hadn’t even looked into the details of what he’d be doing if, by some stroke of magic, the girl decided she wanted to work with him. He knew, without a doubt, that he was good enough to be on the team. The question was whether he could impress someone on a personal level, which had never been his specialty. As confident as he was in his skills when it came to biochemistry or orchestrating a flawless mission, he was an insecure wreck when it came to interacting with other human beings. That had actually been an issue for him, ever since he got recruited into ARK. He wasn’t much for talking, and apparently other people found that insulting, considered him standoffish. He hoped that wouldn’t be a problem for this team, but he knew that was a lot to hope for. So he wasn’t really betting on getting this job.

He walked into the room for the interview. It was small, dimly lit, with a table in the middle. It looked like it was set up more for an interrogation than a job interview. On the other side of the table was an older man, who was looking at him skeptically -- Agent Kane, he assumed -- seated next to a blonde girl, his age, maybe a little bit older, whose face was completely blank. Clarke Griffin. The girl, the agent, the legend, in the flesh. He sat down in the chair on the other side of the table, waited for one of them to speak. Neither did.

He folded his hands on the table in front of him and stared at them intently. “Uh... Hello. I’m Monty Green. I’m hoping to get on your team. I’m a skilled strategist and usually, I work in mission control. I’ve also got a history in biochemical studies, which uh...” he trailed off, finding their silence disconcerting. He glanced up, to find Kane focused on Clarke, who was studying him with an arched brow. “Which... might be useful... If... y’know... that fits in with your...” he didn’t finish the thought, squirming in his seat.

He figured that their silence indicated that they weren't interested, so he pushed his seat back so that he could stand up to leave.

“Wait, where are you going?”

He looked up when she spoke, to see her eyes wide with shock. “I figured you guys didn’t want me? The silence thing was kind of...”

“What? No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, oh my god, I’m sorry. I’m just... I don’t always feel like talking is necessary, y’know? Sometimes, I can understand someone or something better just through observation. No words needed. I forget, sometimes, that might make people uncomfortable. I’m so sorry, I really didn’t mean to stress you out.” She gave him a small smile. “I’ve never been great at the whole ‘people’ thing. I’m sorry.”

Monty was speechless for a moment. “No, no, I totally get it. I’m that way too. Talking... I’m not so good at it, people get mad.”

“Before you got up, I was about to say, if you want to position, you’re in.”

“Wait, seriously? You didn’t even ask me questions. How do you know I’ll fit in? That I’ll be able to do what you need?”

She smiled again. “I’ve seen your file. Talked to people you work with. And now I’ve met you. You’ll be perfect. I’m not sure how, but I know it. It’s just... A feeling. But if you don’t want to work with us, I completely understand.”

“What? No. No, no, I’m definitely in. Hands down. It’s not even a question, I’d love to work with you,” he said quickly, not wanting to give her the wrong impression.

Her smile grew, and she reached across the table to shake his hand. “Welcome aboard.”

  
  


**Jasper**

“Will you marry me?”

The blonde’s eyes widened. “Um... I’m sorry, what? You’re here for a job interview, Mr. Jordan.”

He grinned at her. “Yeah, yeah, I know, but you’re seriously beautiful, and it never hurts to ask.”

“I’m afraid I disagree with your philosophy, there, Mr. Jordan. I think we’re done here.”

Shit. That wasn’t what he was trying for. “Wait, wait! No. I was kidding, I’m sorry. The atmosphere was really tense, and when that happens, I get really nervous and I just say whatever comes into my head.”

“...Right. Well, this didn’t get off to the best start, but your qualifications are absolutely stellar, and you come highly recommended, so I’ll give you a chance to change my mind. Impress me.”

His mind started racing. Jasper wasn’t really all that good at grace under pressure, but he needed this position. Well, not really “needed”. At least, not in the conventional sense. But if he didn’t get it, Monty would kill him. It was their first opportunity to work together since Monty got him recruited. If he blew this, he didn’t know if he’d ever be forgiven. So he needed to figure out some way to get on Clarke Griffin’s good side.

“Okay, give me a second, I swear I’ll come up with something. I promise. It’ll blow your frickin mind, I swear to god. Just... Hold on,” he begged. closing his eyes and willing himself to think of something, anything that he could do to impress her.

She studied him quietly, in this way that reminded him of Monty when he was thinking really carefully. She spoke softly, “Jasper, you come highly recommended by your friend Monty Green. I like him, and I trust his judgment, but this behavior is very, very strange.”

The idea finally came to him. “Wait! Wait. Okay, I have it. I do. I promise. I guarantee, if this doesn’t impress you, you can... You can kill me, right here, right now. It’d be merciful, honestly, because if I leave this room without the job, Monty will end my life. I know that, you see, because before I came to this interview, he looked me dead in the eye and said ‘I swear to god, Jasper, if you don’t get this job, I’ll kill you.’ And I mean, okay, it is Monty, and when he says that, he probably just means he won’t talk to me for like a week, but in Monty terms, that might as well be murder.” Clarke and Kane were looking at him like he had a screw loose, but now he knew what he was doing. “Okay, can you bring me like, the oldest piece of technology that you have that you can use to communicate? I mean, alright, hopefully, it’ll be newer than like, a telegraph, but I could probably figure something out with that, too, so... Dealer’s choice, I guess,” he said, with a half hearted smile. He hoped this would work.

When they came back half an hour later, she had her hands behind her back and a smug, evil smirk on her face. He closed his eyes and braced himself for the worst, and heard the ‘thump’ of something landing on the table. He opened his eyes to see an old cell phone. Like, really old. We’re talking before they even came out with those fuckin Nokias that you couldn’t break if you tried. Like, the old ass cellphones, the ones from the early nineties. The ones that were the size of bricks. He almost laughed in relief. This... This, he could definitely work with.

An hour later, he asked them to bring him a laptop. He opened it up, opened a web browser, and went to Facebook. He logged in, and gestured for Clarke and Kane to look at the screen. He’d updated his status, thirty seven minutes ago. “In the middle of the job interview of a lifetime. I think I might be able to swing it, but if I can’t, Monty, please don’t kill me. I’ll buy your Fruit Hoops for a year.”

Kane arched a brow. “Fruit Hoops?”

Jasper shrugged. “It’s his favorite food. And the way I compensate for my many screw ups. Usually, though, I just have to buy them for a month or two. A year is completely unprecedented. That should give you some idea how serious I am about this.”

“Okay, so you updated a Facebook status,” Clarke said. “Big whoop.”

Jasper grinned and whipped out his best Billy Mays voice. “But wait! That’s not all!” He tapped a few more keys, before lowering the screen for a moment. “Now, please note, this is not up to par with my usual work. Given time, I would have done some formatting, maybe played with the fonts, definitely changed the color scheme, but considering that I did this using an old ass cell phone, I think you’ll find it suitably impressive.”

At that, Clarke rolled her eyes so hard, he was surprised they didn’t pop out. But he raised the screen, and allowed them to take it in. The website displayed was _http://shouldyouhirejasperjordan.com_ , and the only thing on the page was the sentence “Yes, please, I really don’t want to have to buy Monty’s cereal for a year.”

He glanced up at her, and she was biting back a smile. “Am I in?”

She shook her head, slowly. “Against my better judgment, I’m going to say yes.”

Jasper jumped out of his seat and did something vaguely resembling a touchdown dance. “ _Fuck_ yeah! I am the absolute fucking best! Honestly, you have no idea how much money you’re saving me on the whole cereal deal. I don’t know how he eats that much of it, it’s kind of scary.” He looked at her as she laughed, and was once again struck by just how beautiful she was. “Are you sure you don’t want to marry me?”

Her laughter died, and she looked like she was about to change her mind.

“Wait! No, no, no, I was kidding, I swear. I promise. It was a joke,” he said, dropping to his knees in front of her. He widened his eyes, pouted, and tried his best for a puppy dog look, clasping his hands in front of her. “Please don’t change your mind, I’m begging you. Please. I’ll buy you Fruit Hoops for a year! Or, y’know, whatever your favorite food is. Well, as long as it’s not too expensive. I’m not made of money, y’know? Please, please don’t change your mind.”

“Fine.”

“You’re an angel.”

At that, she smiled. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  
  


**Raven**

When she’d started modifying paintball guns, it had all just been for kicks. She liked studying machinery, especially weapons, and the easiest, safest way to do that was with paintball guns. Finn had set her up with a job at the range where he worked, and she got to play with any old, broken guns they had. It was a sweet deal. She’d managed to return a lot of them to commission, most of those having significant improvements with regards to power and efficiency. It was fun as hell.

Or, well, it was, until the day her no good boyfriend quit because some freaky super secret spy agency or something had heard about his talent for modifying weapons. His! Apparently, he’d been taking credit for her work for months. He thought she’d be happy for him when he told her, but that wasn’t how things had panned out. She’d punched him (wrecked that annoying, boy band face of his with a big, fat, shiner, too -- so satisfying) and then dumped him, told him to never talk to her again.

Two weeks later, the super spy weirdos were knocking on her door. They’d realized that he was useless, wanted the real genius. She figured they’d definitely have cooler shit for her to play with than a bunch of crappy paintball guns, so she accepted the offer. She quickly became the best damned weapons tech they’d seen in ages.

When someone told her that she was at the top of the list for people the legendary Clarke Griffin wanted to work with, she figured, why the hell not? She loved any chance to show off just how much better she was than everyone.

She was caught off guard, though, when she went to the interview. She hadn’t expected Clarke Griffin to be so... Beautiful. There was really no other word for it. Long hair, sparkling blue eyes, and the sweetest damn smile she’d even seen. Her heart started racing, and she felt nervous, for the first time in forever. She’d always been picked first, for everything, and she had the confidence to match. But suddenly, she was worried that she might not be good enough.

She tried to summon some of her usual bravado, leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. “I hear you’re looking for a weapons tech.”

The girl gave her a knowing grin. “Yeah, we are. We really need someone who knows how to handle... Delicate machinery. How to hit all the right buttons, if you will.”

 _Holy shit._ Was this girl flirting with her? She decided to push back a little bit, see if she was reading the situation right. She leaned in, pointedly looking at Clarke’s arms. “I bet you’ve got some real nice guns I could work with.”

“I bet we do, too,” she grinned. “So, do you want the job?”

Suddenly, Raven became aware of the older man sitting next to Clarke, giving her a stern look. They appeared to be having a silent conversation, and Raven would put money on it being directly related to their flirtation. It ended with his brows furrowed in frustration, hers raised in amusement.

He turned to look at her, and spoke for the first time since she’d entered the room. “Well?”

“Hell yeah, I want the job. When can I start?”

  
  


**Wick**

The first time he’d met her, he’d been twelve, and she’d been five. They were the only two kids who were at the country club _every single weekend_. Him? He was there because his dad was a bartender there, and he couldn’t find anyone who’d be willing to keep an eye on him. Wick had been raising hell his entire life, and just about everyone on the planet knew better than to agree to babysit him. If you asked him, he wasn’t _that_ bad, not really. Sure, the last guy had left with singed eyebrows, but come on, they were only singed! And just a little, too! At least he still had them! And okay, yeah, the one before him had screamed at him for an hour straight for drawing on her face with sharpie when she’d fallen asleep, but he firmly maintained that it had been his legal obligation to give her that monocle. You can’t fall asleep on duty without getting sharpied. You just can’t! Her, she was there every weekend because her father worked weekends, and her mother wanted her to be “exposed to the right influences” or something. He’d noticed her quietly trailing behind her mother, never really bringing attention to herself. He never thought much about her, until the day that a rich guy yelled at him for having an untucked shirt. He'd been humiliated. Later, he’d been walking back to the bar from the bathroom, when he saw her tucking a corner of the tablecloth underneath the chair of the man in question. When the asshole pushed his chair back, the tablecloth came with him, and he was buried underneath a mountain of ridiculously expensive food. She was sitting on the other side of the table, next to her mother, and he caught her eye, and she gave him a small smile. He decided that she was a good kid.

A few weeks later, there was some fancy event going on, and her mother was helping set up. Everyone was scurrying around, frantic, because the florist had given them irises instead of azaleas. He didn’t get it, but apparently, if they couldn’t fix it, the world would end. The little girl had been, as usual, following quietly, but people kept tripping over her, and she was in the way. Her mother looked around frantically, then gestured to him from across the room, “Hello! Excuse me, young man, but would you mind watching my daughter for just awhile? We’ve got a bit of an emergency, and she doesn’t need to be in the middle of all of this.” He’d nodded, and the little girl smiled brightly and skipped over to him, introducing herself as Clarke before grabbing his hand and dragging him on a walk around the garden with her.

After that, he kind of became her unofficial babysitter. It was a job that he liked a lot more than he'd have thought. She’d help him pull pranks on the people there who were rude or mean, giggle sweetly and talk about how nice he was when he talked to a cute girl (Who would have known a five year old girl would be such a good wingman? He’d got his first kiss thanks to her.), and just walk around with him. She was good company.

They spent a lot of time together, as the years went on, and she basically became his little sister. She wasn’t like the other kids who showed up around the club. They were bratty and annoying and they all thought they were better than him. Her friend Wells wasn’t too bad, but he was kind of goody goody for Wick’s taste, and he didn’t show up much. They hung out every weekend for five years, until he was seventeen and she was ten. At that point, he was kind of tired of hanging around the club, even though it was a target rich environment for pretty girls who wanted to kiss grungy boys to make their parents mad. He decided that he was going to stop going to work with his dad. He was too old for this. He said goodbye to Clarke, and she looked really sad, but she understood, and threw her tiny arms around his stomach in a fierce hug.

“You’re still my big brother,” she said seriously.

He smiled. “And you’re still my baby sister.”

She hugged him again, and he heard her little voice say, “Please don’t forget about me, okay?”

“I could never.”

She swiped the tears from her eyes furiously, and he hugged her one more time before walking away.

He didn’t wind up staying away for long. It was about two months before he decided to go in to work with his dad again, so that he could check on her. Her whole face lit up and she sprinted over to him and hugged him. He didn’t know how he’d convinced himself he would be able to walk away from her, but it was then that he realized he couldn’t.

For the next few years, he’d stop by every so often to check on her. He knew she hated being at the club with her mom, that she missed her dad when he went on business trips, which was often, and that the only other person that she was really friends with was Wells, and they didn’t get to see each other often. He couldn’t just drop her and leave her sad and alone.

When she was fourteen, he made his very last trip to the club. He gave her his phone number, and told her to call if she ever needed anything. She called every few weeks, just to chat. It was usually the highlight of his day.

When she was fifteen and she got in a fight with her mom and decided to run away from home, she ran to his apartment. He bought a pizza, gave her some hot chocolate (the kind with mini marshmallows -- her favorite), and called her mother. They played Mario Kart until Abby knocked on the door, and he helped mediate the fight they’d been having (Clarke wanted to get her nose pierced) until they came to an agreement.

“Thanks, Kyle,” Abby had said, just before they left, sounding tired. “I’m really glad she has a friend like you.”

He smiled gently, gave Clarke a shoulder squeeze, and told her, “No new holes in your head until you’re eighteen. Deal?”

She smiled. “Deal.”

When he was twenty four, he was working at a bar, and he hadn’t spoken to her in a few months. That was normal, really. She called him every three or four months, they’d talk for a few hours, catch each other up on their lives, and promise to do lunch sometime, which they never got around to, because they were both really busy. It was a comfortable routine.

Then, one afternoon, it was raining. He was getting ready to open the bar, and she walked in, dripping. Her clothes were completely soaked, as was her hair, and she was shaking, her face blank.

“What’s up, kiddo?” He hoped the nickname would get her to smile, but it didn’t.

“He’s dead,” she whispered, lips barely moving. “My dad... He’s... He died. He was on one of his business trips, and he just... Didn’t come back. He’s dead.” And then she started sobbing.

He rushed over to her and hugged her tightly, not caring that he was getting soaked too. He held her head to his chest and rubbed her back soothingly, wishing he could take the pain away. He fumbled around for his cell phone, called his friend who owed him a favor, and got his shift switched. He took her to his apartment, gave her some sweats, wrapped a blanket around her, and sat her on the couch. He threw her soaked clothes in the dryer before calling Abby.

“Hey, Mrs. Griffin. I, uh, heard. About... Y’know. About Jake. Clarke’s with me, and I just wanted you to know, she’s, uh, safe. If you want to pick her up, you can.”

Abby’s voice came over the line, distracted. “Actually, would it be okay if she stayed with you for a day or two? I... I don’t know if I can look at her right now, if that makes sense. And I’m pretty sure she won’t want to look at me. Too many memories. It would just be a reminder, for both of us, of what we lost, of what we’ll never have again.”

That sounded sort of strange to him, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t glad for the excuse to keep an eye on Clarke, so he agreed, and then went to sit next to her on the couch. She leaned against his shoulder and cried, for hours, and he just let her, because there was nothing else he could do.

After that, she stopped by the bar every couple weeks. She would just sit at a corner table and drink water and draw. Sometimes, if he got a break, he’d sit next to her and have her show him her drawings. He was really glad that she’d started doing that, because he got to see her more often, and he could make sure she was still doing alright. The other people who worked behind the bar got to know her a little bit, too, and they all loved her. Everyone was willing to turn a blind eye to the fact that she was underage, and let her just do her thing. In return, sometimes, she would draw things for them, never speaking, just handing them the paper with a shy smile before she left.

As time went on and her pain began to subside, she got more talkative and outgoing. She would come in, sit behind the bar, and bug him, or whoever was behind the bar at the time, and they all let her, because hell, at least she was smiling, and that was all any of them wanted.

A few years later, when she walked into the bar, laughing, holding hands with a dark haired girl, followed by a couple of geeky looking guys, Wick felt a weight lifted off of his shoulders. That was the first time he’d seen her look that relaxed in a long, long time. Any people who made her that happy were good in his book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarke's friendship with Wick is very important to me. 
> 
> Also I couldn't resist the opportunity to have Raven and Clarke have a thing because I love them both so much and while they both have romantic destinies that are not each other, I just. Had to do it this way? The universe demanded it.
> 
> Any and all feedback is welcomed and appreciated.


	5. Chapter 4 - "I fucking hate you."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now, you have to understand, here, these were extraordinary circumstances. Extraordinary. Let’s just look at the facts. He was in deep, deep shit with the wrong fucking people. His head was pounding, he was humiliated, exhausted, and extremely hung over. And now, the primary source of his complete and utter humiliation was gleefully, loudly, and, worst of all, screechily singing along to his least favorite song in the history of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had too much fun with this. well, the first part of it.

He woke up in a small, dark room with a pounding headache. Last night came to him in brief flashes. Bar, whiskey, another whiskey, Clarke Griffin, more whiskey, bartender conversation, more whiskey, and Jesus, he generally liked to think of himself as a pretty smart dude, but the whiskey thing had been a bad fucking idea.

Sitting up, he remembered the most embarrassing part of all: that blond bartender and Clarke Griffin dragging him up to some “in-case-of-emergencies” bedroom that was set up and tucking him into bed like a fucking infant.

He was never drinking whiskey again.

Well, probably.

He got up from the bed, stumbled for a moment (which, if you asked him, was due to the unfamiliar environment, not the hangover from hell), and slowly walked toward the door. When he opened it, he felt like one of those cartoon vampires from kids shows, because he could swear the bright sunlight streaming into the bar was burning him alive.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty.” It was Clarke, sitting on top of a table across the room from him, a pad of paper rested on her knees as her hand flew across the page. She hadn’t even glanced up.

That was right. After they’d put him in bed, Clarke had said that she’d stay and keep an eye on him. Right after that fight she had with the frat boy, too. And suddenly, Bellamy’s humiliation doubled, because not only had he needed to be put to bed, he’d needed a fucking babysitter.

Jesus.

“Uh...”

She rolled her eyes, cutting him off before he spoke. “There’s a glass of water on the bar with some aspirin. Take it. Also, I grabbed your phone to call your emergency contact, it’s next to the water. Your sister, Octavia? She’s coming to get you.”

This just kept getting worse and worse. “Why the hell did you call her? I can get myself home.”

Her hand paused for a moment and she glanced up at him. “Maybe you can, but considering the magnitude of the hangover you must have by this point and the fact that you’re squinting like that and swaying a little bit where you stand, I figured I’d be on the safe side and call in reinforcements.”

“The hangover isn’t even that bad. I’m just fine,” he said, placing his hands on the bar to steady himself. The swaying thing was a dead giveaway.

“Really?”

“Really.”

She grinned. “So I guess you won’t mind if I play a little bit of music, then? Y’know, to help me concentrate on my drawing?”

“Not at all.”

“Perfect! I usually need music playing, but I didn’t want to wake you, so I was avoiding it. You can listen with me while we wait for your sister, she said she was about a half hour away when I called her, so it shouldn’t be long.” she explained, searching through her bag for her MP3 player and what looked to be a small, portable speaker.

“Sounds good to me. No need to change your routine on my count, Princess.”

She just smiled and searched for the music she wanted. When she found it, she smiled, plugged the speakers in, and pressed play. Bellamy braced himself for the slight discomfort of what would undoubtedly be loud, classical music.

Unfortunately, that was not what she played.

No, she’d apparently decided that she was feeling nostalgic, because what came through the loud, tiny speakers was Aaron Carter’s “I Want Candy”. The song that was like, well over a decade old, and loud, and annoying as hell. He searched her face for signs that she was fucking with him, but she just bopped along happily to the music and continued drawing.

Okay, he could deal with this. Sure, he had a headache the size of Jupiter and he wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball and die, but he was strong, damnit, and this was a matter of pride. Some high volume, early two thousands pop music was completely tolerable. Absolutely. He’d be fine. And he was!

Until the song changed. Now, you have to understand, here, these were extraordinary circumstances. Extraordinary. Let’s just look at the facts. He was in deep, deep shit with the wrong fucking people. His head was pounding, he was humiliated, exhausted, and extremely hung over. And now, the primary source of his complete and utter humiliation was gleefully, loudly, and, worst of all, screechily singing along to his least favorite song in the history of the world.

Bye Bye Bye, by N*Sync.

The song itself honestly wasn’t that bad. Annoying, yeah, and he thought it was shit, but he wouldn’t have minded it quite so much were it not for the fact that when the song had first come out a million fucking years ago, Octavia had listened to it on repeat for like, a year. It had become his kryptonite.

So it was completely reasonable that, after trying to tolerate it for as long as he could (about halfway through the first verse), he shouted, “For the love of all that is good in this world, will you please just stop fucking singing?”

She didn’t say anything, didn't even really react. She just turned off the speakers, tucked them back in her bag, and went back to her work, smiling.

“You don’t really listen to that to help you draw, do you?”

She laughed. “Nope.”

Of course. “I fucking hate you.”

“Oddly enough, I think I’m okay with that.”

Neither of them said anything else until Octavia showed up, bursting through the door.

“What the fuck were you thinking, Bell? Going all the fucking way across town to some cheap, gross bar no one’s ever heard of - no offense,” she added quickly, to Clarke, who shrugged, seeming content just to have a front row seat to the show, before continuing, “- without telling me, or Miller, or fucking anyone? _Especially_ after what just happened to -” she broke off, and Bellamy knew she meant Atom.

“I’m sorry, O. I just... I needed to get away for a night.”

Her face softened. “I get that, I do. But... God, I was so worried. Don’t disappear on me like that again,” she said, quietly, and he walked over and pulled her into a tight hug. She whispered into his chest, “I can’t lose you, too, Bell.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

She pulled out of his arms and looked over to Clarke. “Thanks for taking care of him. I know he’s a royal pain in the ass, but... He’s my brother, y’know?”

“Yeah, I get you,” she said with a small smile. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Octavia said quietly. “The two of us... Things haven’t always been easy. And we’ve lost a lot of people, over the years, and at this point, we really only have each other, so... Thank you, so much, for keeping him safe. It means the world.”

“No problem at all. I swear.”

“Still, I feel like I owe you,” she said. “Wait! I know. I’ll bake you thank you cupcakes. You’ve gotta give me your number so I can figure out the best way to get them to you, okay?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Okay! Here, put your number in -” she broke off, searching her pockets. “Wait, shit, my phone is in the car. Be right back.”

Clarke chuckled softly. “Alright.” Once the door shut behind Octavia, she said, quietly, “I put my number in your phone, too. Just in case you change your mind.”

He froze, and a moment later, O flew back into the room, brandishing her phone proudly. He watched Clarke enter her phone number and then stiffen awkwardly as his sister hugged her. She followed them out the door, locking it behind her, and then walked around the corner, out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a really bad habit of going from fun and silly (clarke torturing bellamy with nsync) to very not fun and silly (octavia and bellamy's conversation) in like six seconds flat and destroying my soul in the process.


	6. Chapter 5 - Damsels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Alright. Sleep well, Sleeping Beauty.”
> 
> “You, too, Princess.” He heard her chuckle softly at his response as they both settled in to go to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please note that this is unbeta-ed and i finished it at 4:30 am so it's probably very messy. but i had a lot of fun with it, so at least there's that.

“I thought you were hanging out with Clarke tonight,” he said as he closed the door behind himself. Ever since they'd met, the two of them had started hanging out all the time. It was really,  _really_ getting on his nerves.

“Hmm?” Octavia tilted her head back so that she was looking at him upside down from the other side of the couch. “Oh, yeah, we were going to, but she forgot that she had some fancy dinner thing with her mom.”

He scoffed. “That sounds pretty inconsiderate.”

She threw a pillow at him, lazily. He caught it easily and carried it with him as he took a seat on the other end of the couch. “Shut up, Bell. I know you want to hate her because she made you look like a jerk, but she’s really cool.” He made a face in response, and she kicked him. Hard.

“Ouch! Fine! Fine. She’s cool. Okay. I won’t talk about how rude or self centered or privileged or bratty she is. I promise.”

She shot him another glare before sticking her tongue out and turning to grab the remote. “She said that the event thing might be on the news tonight, so I was going to check that out. If you can’t be nice, leave.”

He held his hands up in surrender. “You want some popcorn or something?”

“Yeah, sure.”

As he walked to the kitchen to grab a bag to throw in the microwave, she turned the TV on and started searching for the right channel.

“Holy shit,” he heard Octavia say, and he came to see what prompted that outburst. She was staring at the TV screen, and he followed her gaze, and “holy shit” was right. It was footage from before the dinner, as everyone was arriving, and there was Clarke, looking like she’d stepped right out of a damn Disney movie.

She was wearing one of those dresses with that one shoulder strap thing, and it showed off her neck and shoulder and arms, and it fell to her knees, showing off her legs, and that just wasn't fair. It was this super dark blue, like the sky at night, and the whole thing was covered with this thin, silver, lacy layer that wound up looking like stars, so she looked like she was wearing the fucking constellations, and her hair was pulled away from her face into a knot high on top of her head, a few strands fell loose, and there was a flower tucked behind one of her ears, and she was smiling and holding onto Wells Jaha’s arm, and he was murmuring in her ear, and she was leaning into him and laughing, and she was absolutely fucking glowing.

“Jesus, Bell. Stare, much?” Octavia smirked at him from her place on the couch. He’d frozen where he stood, fingers holding the plastic wrapping on the popcorn where he had been about to tear it open when she’d yelled.

He felt heat rush to his cheeks and mumbled, “Whatever, O,” before turning and walking back into the kitchen. He microwaved the popcorn, poured it into a bowl, and rejoined his sister on the couch. They watched another minute of the coverage, something about “important political event,” before he grabbed the remote from Octavia’s lap.

“Bell, what the hell are you doing?”

“Come on, O, you already saw your friend on TV. It’s not like any other part of that event means anything to you.”

She huffed. “I know, but -”

She didn’t get to finish her sentence, because they were both very suddenly distracted, because the footage they were showing from earlier had been interrupted by a loud voice that announced “Breaking News”.

Apparently, there had been a fire at the fancy hotel where the dinner was being held. They were showing all the people as they rushed outside of the building, and both he and Octavia started searching the crowd on screen for a blonde in a dark blue dress when the camera cut away. Luckily for them, though, it cut to an interview, and there she was. Jaha was next to her looking just a little bit disheveled, but she looked like a mess. Her hair was falling haphazardly from the knot on top of her head, her dress had torn in a few places, and she just looked... Shaken. Weak. Small. Jaha had taken off his suit jacket and placed it around her shoulders.

The interviewer was asking them about the fire, and he only tuned in in time to hear her respond when they asked what had happened. “I don’t know. One minute I was walking to the bathroom, and the next, the building was on fire. I’m just so glad that everyone managed to get out safe, really.”

“This was a very upsetting event, but I think it ended the best way it could,” Wells cut in. “No one hurt, no serious damage done. I think we’re all just thanking our lucky stars.”

The interview was interrupted by Clarke’s phone ringing, and when she stepped away and answered it, he realized that it was Octavia who’d called her, because she was yelling into the phone.

“Ohmygod, we’re watching the news, are you okay? Were you hurt?” She fell quiet while Clarke responded. “I’m so glad, oh my goodness. Do you need a place to stay for the night?” Bellamy tried to catch her eye so he can tell her not to do this, but she purposely looked away from him so that she could tell him later that she didn’t know he was opposed to the plan. “Yeah, sure, Wells can stay too. I’m absolutely positive that Bell will be fine with it.” When she said the last part, she finally turned to face him, giving him her “you’re-doing-this-or-else” stare, and he caved, just like he always did when she gave him that look. “Yeah, no problem. You get checked out, and just come by when you’re done.”

She hung up, and looked at him. “O, was that really necessary?”

“Yes.”

“And her friend, too?”

“Yes, Bellamy! They just went through a traumatic experience and you and I are going to be good, supportive friends.”

“Only one of them is your friend, and neither of them are mine!”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Fine, then I am going to be a good, supportive friend, and you are going to be a good, supportive big brother.”

And that was that. Half an hour later, there was a knock on the door, and when Octavia rushed to answer it, she only found Wells. As he walked in, he caught Bellamy’s eye, and before he could respond, turned back to Octavia, seeming to have gotten all the information he needed.

“Sorry Clarke’s not with me. Her, uh, mom had to go to the hospital, and she wanted to go along and make sure everything was okay. She’ll be here soon.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry. Like, at all. Come on in. Do you need to like, change clothes or something?”

His eyes widened, and he shook his head. “No, no, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. I honestly didn’t even wanna bother you guys, but Clarke said that you had offered and said it was okay, and, well, when she gets an idea in her head, it’s hard to talk her out of it.”

“I know what that’s like,” Bellamy said, shooting a look at Octavia, who gave him her sweetest, most innocent smile.

“I can’t imagine what you might be talking about, Bell,” she said, and the two guys shared a knowing look.

The three of them sat around making awkward, strained conversation until another knock at the door told them that Clarke had arrived. Octavia answered the door again, and ushered Clarke in, giving her a tight hug.

“We’re so glad you’re okay. How’s your mom?”

She still looked shaken, but she offered a small smile. “My mom? She’s, uh, she’s doing alright,” she said, and Bellamy saw her catch Jaha’s eye, and he gave her a nod in return before she continued. “I was just worrying over nothing.”

“Thank god. So, uh, I guess you probably want to sleep after all that stress and whatnot? Clarke, you can take my bed, and Wells, you can take Bellamy’s.”

“Hey!”

“Shut up, Bell.”

“Honestly, Octavia, as much as I appreciate the offer, I’d just as soon sleep on the couch. Beds have never really been my thing,” Clarke said, smiling. “I just need something else to wear, and I’m totally fine.”

“Alright, well, then, Bellamy, you can keep your bed, because you were so opposed to sharing, Wells can take mine, and me and Clarke can have a slumber party out here!”

“Octavia, you have morning classes tomorrow. You’re not sleeping in the living room. Jaha can have my bed, I’ll take the chair. Just let me grab something to wear.” With that, he retreated into his room, closely followed by Wells.

“Thanks for letting me crash in your room,” he said earnestly.

“Yeah, whatever, it’s nothing.”

“Your sister doesn’t know, does she, Blake?” he asked, quietly. “About Steele?”

Octavia’s voice carried through the door. “Can you grab something for Clarke to wear, too? I think my pajamas might be a bit small for her.”

“Sure thing,” he called, then turned back to the senator’s son. “No, she doesn’t, and she’s not going to. Got it?”

He held his hands up defensively. “I’m not saying anything. I just wanted to make sure, so I know I need to watch my mouth.”

“...Thanks.”

“No problem.”

He left the room carrying an extra shirt and some sweats for Clarke to wear. He tossed them at her, and she caught them, going into the bathroom to change.

When she came out, she’d let her hair and rinsed the makeup off of her face. She looked so soft and tousled and sweet, drowning in his clothes. Octavia gave her a hug, looked at Bellamy and warned him to “play nice”, and then went into her room to go to sleep.

Clarke smiled softly at him. “You want the chair or the sofa?”

“Uh... I guess I’ll take the chair.”

“Alright. Sleep well, Sleeping Beauty.”

“You, too, Princess.” He heard her chuckle softly at his response as they both settled in to go to sleep.

He woke up around 3:45, according to his phone, because of light streaming from the bathroom. The door was open a crack, and he went to investigate. What he found was Clarke Griffin, wearing just his sweatpants and a bra, pulling a bandage away from her waist gingerly.

He leaned against the door frame. “You didn’t get that running away from a fire.”

“No, I didn’t,” she said, glancing over her shoulder to meet his gaze. “There something I can help you with, Blake?”

“Nothing I can think of. I just couldn't sleep, because _someone_ left a light on.”

She chuckled. “How inconsiderate of them.”

“Yeah. So. You’ve got some injury there that definitely isn’t from a fire, and somehow you know how to fight, and you’re the person I got sent to when I went looking for the big guns. You’re not just some socialite,” he said.

She looked indignant. “I absolutely _am_ some socialite. However, you’re right that that isn’t all I am.”

“So what the hell are you? How did you even get involved in shit like this? Did you start that fire? What if someone got hurt? Why the fuck would you do something like that? Hell, did your mom even need to go to the hospital?”

“...That’s a lot of questions. I can’t completely answer all of them, but I’ll tell you what I can,” she sighed, replacing the bandage over the gash and turning to lean against the sink. “No, my mother did not need to go to the hospital. Well, she did, because after the fire, there was this car crash, and they needed her help, but she wasn’t hurt. No one was really hurt, which I made sure of. Technically, I didn’t start the fire, but it was planned beforehand, and I was a part of that plan. I can’t tell you why, or how I wound up in all of this, or even what it is that I am. All you really need to know about me is that I’m someone who can help you, and let me tell you, kiddo, you really need help.”

“Kiddo? I’m older than you.”

She looked at him with raised brows. “That’s what you take away from that?”

“No, but it’s the only thing I know what to do with,” he said defensively. She’d just dropped a lot of bombs. “How much does Wells know? And how do I know I can trust you? And what was with that whole damsel in distress act earlier?”

She sighed again. “Jesus, you ask a lot of questions. Uh... Wells doesn’t know much. He just knows that I do a lot of things that he doesn’t know the details of, he knows not to ask questions, and he knows to cover for me when I need it. The damsel in distress act is just me playing the part. Everyone expects me to be the weak little spoiled princess, the kind of person who would cry about a papercut, and so that’s who I pretend to be. If I acted any other way, people would start asking questions,” she shrugged, and okay, that did make sense. “You don’t know you can trust me, I guess. I mean, not really. I can give you a speech about how honest I am, but we both know that would be a load of bull. I just know that you work for Edward Steele, and that there’s a lot of shady business going on with his campaign, and that your friend found that out, got nervous, and paid the price.”

He swallowed, hard. He didn’t like to think about Atom.

“I also know that our goals are ultimately the same. Either you agree to let me help you, and I keep you safe while we work together to take down Steele, or you don’t, and you may or may not be safe while I work to stop Steele.”

“If I agree, how are you going to help me?”

“Look, kid, the less you know about the details, the better. I’m a busy girl, and I can’t sit around waiting for you to make up your mind. So choose, here and now. Either you’re in or you’re out.”

He thought carefully for a moment, before sighing in defeat. “Fine. But stop calling me kid.”

She shook her head. “Sorry, Junior, don’t think I can agree to that. Now, I’ve gotta take care of this thing,” she said, gesturing to the bandage. “There’s one of those travel sewing kits in my bag, can you grab that for me?”

“Uh, yeah, here,” he said, finding the packet. He handed it to her, and was distracted for a moment by her shirtlessness. Her bra barely kept her breasts covered, the smooth skin of her stomach looking so temptingly soft.

“And there are a couple of alcohol swabs, can you hand me those, too?”

He did, and she pulled the bandage away, tearing open one of the alcohol swabs with her teeth. She dabbed at the wound gently, wincing, then opened another to clean the needle, which she threaded, and he was suddenly hit with the realization of what she was planning on.

“...Are you going to give yourself stitches?”

She glanced up at him. “Hmm? Oh, yeah. Honestly, it’s not as big of a deal as you might think.”

“Jesus. Stitches. You’re giving yourself stitches. Like, jabbing yourself with a needle, repeatedly. I don’t know if I can watch this.”

She laughed softly. “Aww, poor boy. You don’t need to hang around while I do this. I forget that things like this can totally make other people nauseous. You can go back to sleep. I’ll be done soon.”

He wanted to respond, but couldn’t come up with anything to say, so he just sighed, turned around, and went back to the chair. He definitely needed some sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know, again, this is unrealistic, but i'm having fun with it. 
> 
> I am very very tired of the damsel in distress clarke narrative. clarke is nobody's fuckin damsel. bellamy, however, is a different story.
> 
> also, fun fact, i have actually done the "giving yourself stitches" thing. by some stroke of luck, it didn't go horribly wrong when i did it, but i still absolutely do not recommend it.


	7. Chapter 6 - Nipple Guns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Nipple guns,” Jasper murmured, in awe. “God bless America.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had too much fun with this
> 
> also, i wrote it between the hours of 2 and 5 am, so please forgive me for messiness
> 
> clarke and monty's friendship is incredibly important to me i love them so much god

It had taken them ages to come up with an outfit for when Clarke went on covert ops that they could all agree on. Ages. Oddly enough, that had been the biggest obstacle they’d faced in terms of coming together to form a cohesive team. Clarke’s only requirements were that it was comfortable and functional. She’d proposed a simple black body suit. It was made of a very elastic, breathable, soft fabric, it was relatively easy to modify to the specific needs of a situation... She’d been relatively certain it would be perfect. When she’d suggested it to the team, though, Jasper had thrown a fit, insisting that she was a secret agent and what was the point of being a secret agent if you didn’t get to wear cool, fancy, high-tech secret agent clothes?

“I’d like to see you come up with something better, Jasper.”

Her challenge did not go unanswered. He spent two full weeks on his design, not breathing a word of it to anyone, constantly sketching and researching. When he proudly presented his design to the group the reaction had been mixed. Kane had simply exhaled, a long suffering sigh, which was one of his specialties. Raven busted out laughing, Monty, in an attempt not to follow Raven’s example, bit his lip until it bled, and Clarke just shook her head slowly.

“What? What’s wrong with it?”

Monty tried first. “Uh... Jasper, it’s...”

“Clarke isn’t fucking Iron Man, kid. And a big part of the whole covert operations deal is the ‘covert’ thing. As in, discrete. Moving quietly, undetected. A gigantic suit of armor is kind of counterproductive.”

Jasper stuck his tongue out at her. “I don’t see _you_ having any bright ideas, Raven.”

Of course, that led to Raven’s attempt, which was definitely an... enlightening experience for everyone.

“ _Why_ would I ever need to shoot anything out of _there_?” Clarke spluttered.

She was met with a shrug. “You never know,” Raven said. Then, she smirked, “Also, I thought it would be kinda hot.”

“I second that!”

“Shut up, Jasper.” Clarke shook her head. “That design is out. There is no way in hell I’m walking around in that thing. I mean, first of all, there is way too much of a chance that I’d accidentally hit the wrong one of those many, many buttons and die. Beyond that, though, I’m not going to wear a suit that fires projectiles out of the fucking nipple region, Raven.”

“I don't see why not. It’d be a great excuse to say you have killer tits,” she smirked in self satisfaction. “Which, y’know, you do.”

“Please, _please_ tell me that you didn’t come up with this whole, elaborate design as an excuse to hit on me. Like. We’re literally dating. You don’t need to hit on me anymore.”

“But I like to!”

Clarke just stared at her with an arched brow until she broke.

“Not the whole thing,” she muttered. “Just the nipple guns.”

“Nipple guns,” Jasper murmured, in awe. _“God bless America.”_

After that, they’d all agreed to table the covert ops outfit discussion until it needed to be addressed. The next week, though, Monty revealed that he’d been working on a design of his own, too. It took the comfort and practicality of Clarke’s proposition, melded in some of the better aspects of Jasper’s Iron Man suit - namely, finding a strong fabric that would be more protective than most and including a built in comm system, and thrown in some of the weaponization that Raven had suggested - excluding the nipple guns, despite Jasper’s persistent begging - and everyone was (more or less) satisfied.

None of them could really explain it, but if you asked them, the day that they’d finally been able to agree on the suit was the day they had turned from a team into a family.

 

That seemed like an eternity ago. It was hard to believe it had only been two years. Everything had changed so much, but the one thing that stayed the same was her ops suit. In a weird way, it was kind of her safety blanket. If she had that suit, she’d be okay. She was wearing it now, creeping through the halls of the weapons manufacturing plant she’d been sent to.

“You know what you’re doing?” Monty’s voice in her ear had become one of the most comforting things in her life. Knowing he was at mission control meant that she was in good hands, whether everything went as planned or not.

“For now, yeah. I’m about to hit the guard patrols though.”

“Gotcha. We’ll go radio silent until you say otherwise. Stay safe, Clarke,” he added softly, as if it were an afterthought.

It wasn’t.

Clarke and Monty shared a very special bond. Always had, ever since the first time they met. They were birds of a feather. Quiet, intelligent, thoughtful, perceptive, exceptionally talented in their fields, and, above all else, kind. When they met, she was struggling to find herself after the loss of her father, and he was trying to find a place in the world where he belonged. He quickly found a friend in her and a home and a family in her and her team, and when she needed someone to stand by her while she figured out what she was supposed to do with herself without her father, he was there. He’d been a guiding force in her life, and without him, she was lost. Monty had been an anchor for her, firm and steady where everything around her was shifting and changing. Along the way, they’d become best friends. Family. They'd even developed their own language.

When Monty told her to stay safe, he was saying so much more. He was saying, I love you, I’m proud of you, I believe in you, you’re strong. He was reminding her of how far she’d come, how far they’d both come, and how far they had yet to go. It was his way of telling her that she was never alone. He always said that just before the two of them would need to break contact.

“Always, Monty,” she responded automatically, before she tapped the button on her comms unit that shut it down.

She crept down the hall slowly, listening carefully for footsteps. Some missions, it wouldn’t matter if she was seen, but this needed to be one hundred percent under the radar. First, she had to get into the mainframe, rewrite some of the coding so that any more guns produced would be more or less useless until they discovered the change, which would probably take a few days. Then, she had to snag one of the guns that had already been produced and bring it back with her for ARK techs to analyze - Jasper and Raven told her it would be worth her while to get two, so that they could tinker with one on their own. She told them that she wasn’t making any promises, but everyone knew she’d deliver. It was just who she was.

She came up on the corner of the path that the guards took just as they were passing by. She stood in the shadows, still and silent, waiting for them to get far enough away that they wouldn’t hear her footsteps as she rushed down the hallway. She made it through that easily enough, but that was the end of the simple part of her journey. From that point on, guards wouldn’t be so easily avoided. She ducked down a narrow hallway to find an air vent. She made quick work of the screws, pulled the grate off, and climbed into the duct. It was a snug fit, but she managed, slowly working her way through the path they’d planned out beforehand using a map of the building’s air ducts. Soon enough, she found herself peering out into the room that housed the mainframe. She switched her comms back on.

“Monty?”

“Yeah! Hey, Clarke. You in?”

“Yup!”

“Run into any trouble?”

“Nope. Are Jasper and Raven good to go?”

Their voices bursted into her ear simultaneously.

“Hell yeah, babe.”

“Ready, Mom.”

Right. That was a thing. Jasper started calling her “Mom” not long after the suit debate was resolved. She’d tried, desperately, to get him to stop, but to no avail. Apparently, she “just _was_ ” a mom.

“I hate you, Jas. Alright, what do I do?”

The two of them talked her through the system coding alterations calmly. At some point over the past two years, Raven and Jasper had combined their jobs - Jasper, who had initially been brought on solely for communications, was deemed “an incompetent goober” by Raven, and he called her weapons work “unimaginative, plebeian drivel”, and over time, they’d just kind of melded. The two of them combined were unstoppable, and whenever anyone brought up the fact that they were kind of an awesome team, they both got extremely offended and would refuse to speak to each other or to the person who’d said it for no less than three days.

Once they were satisfied that she’d managed to do what she’d gone in to do, she had to go silent again.

“Talk to you guys soon.”

“Wait, Clarke, make sure you grab tw-”

Jasper’s reminder was cut off as she shut down comms again. She already knew what he was going to say. Two guns. But she didn’t need the three of them in her ear distracting her, and there had been more than enough instances of the three of them yammering non stop, very nearly ruining missions because they forgot to move the mouthpieces of their headsets. So radio silence was her safest bet. From that point out, it was easy, ducking through halls and dodging around corners. She nabbed two guns, rushed back to her entry point, making sure she stopped and checked the vents she’d used as entry and exit points to make sure they’d been closed and she’d left no trace of her presence. She ducked out, rushed to the rendezvous point where a car was waiting for her, and collapsed inside.

She groaned. “Remind me why we do these jobs in the middle of the night?”

Kane glanced at her in the rearview mirror with a small grin. “That’s when everyone else is asleep, kiddo.”

“Yeah, about that. I feel like I should be asleep too? Like, that’s what i should be doing at night, in my opinion. Not crawling through vents or listening to Raven and Jasper bicker over the most efficient way to hack. Remind me why I do this again?”

He chuckled. “You’re a good person? You’re incredibly talented? You enjoy how it, and I quote, ‘ups your badassness quota’?”

“Way to use my own words again me, old man.”

“Quit whining, brat. You do this because you love it. Because it’s good. Because it’s in your blood. And you know that.”

She smiled. “Yeah, I do.”

“Home?”

“Home.”

She gave him the gun to take to the ARK techs, then he dropped her off at the apartment she shared with Raven.

“So?”

“Everything went fine.”

Raven grinned. “As always. By the way, you’ve got a couple messages. You won another free tropical vacation, your prescription for the antibiotic you need to take to keep your stitches from getting infected is in, and something from someone named Bellamy? Who has a really sexy voice, by the way. You’re going to have to tell me about that.”

“After I enjoy a brief nap. Or, y’know, coma.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Whatever. You’re not the one who had to crawl through air ducts all night, so hush.”

Raven didn't bother to respond, because she was searching through Clarke's bag.

“Did you forget to snag another...”

Clarke scoffed. “Who do you think you’re talking to?” She lifted the hem of her shirt to show the extra gun she’d stashed. She took it out of her waistband and handed it to Raven. “Now, go play with your new toy, and let me sleep.”

“Yes, mom.”

Clarke groaned as she flung herself, face down, onto the couch. “Shut the fuck up, Rae. You’re not Jasper.”

If Raven said anything in response to that, Clarke didn’t hear it, because she was out like a light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i needed a better look into the life of secret agent clarke griffin
> 
> also, jasper is, without doubt, the kind of person who would insult people by calling them plebes. 
> 
> another note: team clarke would come together pretty peacefully in general and it only makes sense that they would be on the brink of world war iii over an outfit


	8. Chapter 7 - The Jasper and Raven Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Was your Romeo an asshole?"
> 
> She laughed. "Oh, yeah. Fucking _hated_ that kid."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was really fun to write

Bellamy needed to get a grip. This was supposed to be just like any other night at the bar. Hanging out with Miller and Octavia, having a drink and relaxing a little.

"Dude, what's up? I mean I know you're introducing us to this new girl or whatever, but you seem really tense."

He shrugged, mumbled something about not sleeping well. Miller didn't seem to totally buy it, but he dropped the subject. Bellamy knew he was acting weird, but honestly, who could blame him? He was sitting in his usual bar with his regular friends waiting for Clarke Griffin to show up. Clarke Griffin, the socialite. Clarke Griffin, who was going to help him take down a corrupt politician, who was some kind of mysterious fucking badass, who had become one of his little sister's best friends. That girl, she was going to show up, and they were going to act like they were dating or something, so that people wouldn't get suspicious that she showed up in his life so often and so suddenly.

He hadn't mentioned her name to Miller, just that there was a new girl he was kind of talking to who was going to stop by. Octavia was over the moon - apparently, Clarke's friends were coming, too, and she'd met a couple of them before, and she adored them. Him? He just wanted this to be over with.

"He's just nervous about meeting her friends, probably. Or maybe he's worried she'll change her mind about going out with him. I knew," Octavia said, leaning across the table towards Miller while jabbing her brother with her elbow, "I knew that he liked her. Like, from the very first time I saw them together, I totally knew he'd wind up asking her out."

He snorted. "Okay, how the hell could you possibly know that? Even _I_ didn't know that."

"Of course you didn't."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Octavia's mouth opened, likely to tell him just what that was supposed to mean, but before she could speak, a bunch of new bodies slid into their booth.

"Hi, Bell!" Clarke's voice was light and sweet in a way he hadn't heard it before, and he was about to turn to greet her when he felt her lips connect with his cheek. His pulse started racing, and he was about to say something when two things seemed to happen at once.

First, there was now a guy sitting next to Miller, and the two of them were staring into each others' eyes. Miller looked stunned, and the kid next to him looked embarrassed. He was kind of small, very angular, with long-ish, straight, black hair. He was the first of the two of them to break the eye contact, shaking his head and turning to the girl who was sitting next to him like he was about to yell at her. 

That girl, however, wasn't paying attention. She was looking, wild eyed, anywhere but at the people on the opposite side of the table. Bellamy wasn't sure why, because he'd never seen her before, and Clarke was her friend, until he glanced at his sister. She'd dropped her face to her hands, eyes closed, and suddenly, everything made sense. That was O's guilty face.

"Raven?"

"Raven!"

Octavia spoke at the same exact moment the other guy did, which brought the girl back to their table, a sheepish smile on her face. Bellamy glanced at Clarke to see how she was handling all of these things, only to find her chuckling and shaking her head slowly. "Really, Raven?"

"You could have told me his sister's name!"

"How was I supposed to know that the two of you had a thing?"

Octavia chose that point to cut in. "It was _not_ a thing. It was one night. It was a good night, definitely, but it wasn't like, a _thing_."

Clarke was just laughing, seeming completely unphased, while Raven crossed her arms over her stomach and huffed out a breath. "What's so funny?"

"You just have impeccable taste."

Raven grinned, broadly. "I do, don't I?"

"Wait. You two?" Octavia was looking back and forth between the Clarke and Raven, and Bellamy froze. The two of them were a thing? Was that in the past, or still going on? _Holy shit_ , was he the other woman? Well, man, as the case may be, but still. Was it one of those open relationship deals? What was going on?

Clarke giggled and leaned into him, and that was just so unlike her, and he had to remind himself that they were an act. As in, not real. As in, her romantic relationships were really none of his business. "Raven and I dated for awhile a couple years ago. It was nice, but just not quite the right fit, y'know? And I mean, having different romantic needs isn't a good reason to break off an amazing friendship, so here we are."

"Living proof that exes can, in fact, be friends."

"That's all well and good, definitely," came a new voice. It belonged to a lanky guy in a pair of goggles who'd pulled up a chair to sit at the end of the table, because the booths could only seat six. "Truly adorable. But we have more important things to discuss. Mom, did you not see Raven shove me so I wouldn't get a seat in the booth?"

 _What?_ Mom? No one at that table was old enough to be his mother.

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did n -" she broke off, yelping, and turned to the guy on her other side. "Ouch, Monty, what the hell?"

Octavia was giggling gleefully beside him, Miller looked like a deer in the headlights, and Clarke was shaking her head. "What have I told you three about fighting when we go out?"

_Again, what?_

The three of them grumbled, arms crossed, eyes trained on the table, and somehow, they all looked like they were eight years old and about to be lectured by their mother.

"Are you really going to make me say it?"

"No," three voices chorused grumpily.

"Apologize to our new friends."

"Sorry."

Miller finally seemed to shake out of whatever daze the sudden information overload had imposed on him. "Okay, what the fuck is going on? There is no way you're their mother. Also, wait, Bellamy, is your new girlfriend Clarke Griffin?"

"I'm not his girlfriend. Well, not yet, anyways, but yeah, I am Clarke Griffin. Nice to meet you... Miller, right?" He nodded. "Well, number one, Miller, you just lost a long standing game. Personally, I'm willing to let that slide, but you'll probably have to take that up with Jasper. Number two, well, I'll explain the game, because that'll clear a lot of things up. The four of us have been friends for awhile. We're kind of our own little family. At some point, Jasper just started calling me mom, and, well, it would be easier for me to bench press a jeep than to get him to stop, so we just kind of rolled with it, and now it's a game. I'm the mom, first person to break character loses. You lost."

"So what's the penalty? Wait, how could I lose a game I don't even know I'm playing?"

"Take it up with Jasper."

That sparked a lively debate between Miller and Jasper, which gave Bellamy and Clarke an excuse to ditch the table to talk.

They were greeted by greasy hair and a huge, pointy nose. "New girlfriend, Blake?"

He froze, and he felt Clarke jump a little, and then grab his arm. He knew that she was acting, that couldn't possibly be genuinely afraid - he'd seen her kick the ass of a guy twice Murphy's size, with ease - but he couldn't help but feel oddly satisfied that he could be her shield. That, even if it wasn't genuine, she turned to him for protection.

"What's it to you, Murphy?"

"Nothing, really. It's just, you and me are brothers, y'know? If there's a new addition to our family, I feel like I should know."

Bellamy was about to step in front of Clarke, shut Murphy down completely, but she stepped forward with a shy smile. "Hi! I'm afraid I'm not quite a member of the family yet. We're only just getting to know each other. But I'm happy to meet any friend of Bellamy's! I'm Clarke," she said, sticking out her hand.

Murphy's smile grew wolfish, predatory as he reached out to grip her hand in his. "Clarke Griffin? Y'know, I'm a big fan of your mom's. How'd you wind up with my boy Bellamy, here?"

"You know how Bellamy's a total comic book geek?" Wait, how the hell did _she_ know that? It was true, but he'd never told her that. "I'm one too. I was looking for the new Miss Marvel comic over at that shop on 7th and Palmer, you know, the one where the kid behind the counter wears way too much aftershave? Anyways, I ran into Bellamy, who was checking to see if they had the new Green Arrow issue in, and it just kind of went from there!"

She was good. Like, really good. He'd gone to that comic book shop about three weeks ago and picked up the new Green Arrow. Three weeks was a pretty believable timeline, too. Murphy gave her a long look, but he found nothing but a sunshiney smile and a slightly bemused expression in her eyes. "John Murphy. Nice to meet you, Clarke," he smiled. He nodded and turned to walk back over to the bar, leaving the two of them alone. Clarke grabbed his hand and tugged him with her as she walked out of the bar. The door swung shut behind him and she leaned against the wall, pulling him with her so that he was leaning over her. She gave him a coy, flirtatious smile, and he swallowed, hard, as she put her hands on his shoulders to lean up and whisper in his ear.

"Time to talk logistics, Blake."

Right. Cold showers. Comic books. Elderly people in swimsuits. This was business, not pleasure. He leaned his forehead into hers, struck by how oddly comfortable it felt. "How the hell is this going to work?"

"You don't have to worry about the details too much. We've got those covered. You don't need to know how. We just need to figure out how to approach..." She gestured vaguely between them, "this."

He swallowed. "Well, uh... What do you think?"

She slid her hands off his shoulders, down the front of his body where they ended at his waist. She grabbed his belt loops and pulled his hips flush against her. "Well, we have to play up the relationship thing for my cover. I'm used to things like this, so it's really down to whatever you're comfortable with." Her hands slid around him, keeping him close, and he fought to remind his body that this was all an act.

He shut his eyes tight, trying to concentrate. "What would you recommend?" He hoped his smile looked flirtatious. She was too good at this, at faking chemistry, and he couldn't for the life of him figure out where her head was at, because he was too busy trying to keep up with the act.

"First, maybe make it look like you at least sort of like my company? I know you hate me, but maybe make it a little bit less obvious." She dug her nose into his neck, and he inhaled sharply.

"I don't," he replied, and she arched a brow. "Hate you, that is. It's just...how can you do all of this? Like, I mean, how are you so good at this? The faking it, the making it up on the spot, the flirting with someone you don't even like... How is it so easy for you?"

"Never said I didn't like you, Sleeping Beauty," he flushed at the nickname, the reminder of how they'd met. "As for how I can do the whole acting, improv, faking it deal, it's just lots of practice. Romeo and Juliet in high school, all of that shit."

"Was your Romeo an asshole?"

She laughed. "Oh, yeah. Fucking _hated_ that kid. Got all smug about the fact that we were gonna kiss, bragged about how I couldn't punch him because he couldn't perform with a black eye, and his understudy had chronic halitosis. Like, super nasty. Onions, fish, rotten eggs, the whole deal. He forgot, though, that there was nothing stopping me from decking him after the curtains dropped."

"No! That is _brutal_ ," Bellamy gasped, wincing.

"He had it coming. Besides, the fat lip only lasted two weeks," she smiled when that got her a chuckle, then she put a hand on either side of his face, forcing him to meet her eyes. "The acting gets easier, I promise. And I'll try to make it easier for you to act like you like me. I can't completely stop being annoying - just not in my nature, sorry - but I'll definitely probably cut back a little bit on the shenanigans."

"A little bit?" he asked around a broad smile.

"A little bit," she nodded seriously in confirmation. "And I won't even brag about how you have to kiss me. I know, I know, it's a chore, and annoying as hell, but under the circumstances, I think you could be worse off. Kissing a pretty girl is hardly the worst thing to have to do to to keep your cover."

"Pretty girl? Someone's confident."

"Damn right I am. With good reason, too. Have you  _seen_ me, Blake? I am an absolute babe. A catch! Of all the people you could have to -" 

She didn't get to finish her sentence, because his mouth covered hers. _This is for the act_ , he told himself as his hands slid to her waist.  _If we're going to do this, I'm going to need to learn how to improvise. And we were going to kiss sooner or later, so now's as good a time as any._  

She moved her lips against him, following his lead as he sipped at her mouth. He forgot that this wasn't real for her, forgot that it was an act, because _god_ , she tasted amazing. Sweet, but not in the usual way. Not cotton candy, bubblegum, sugar cookies and vanilla. No, those kinds of sweet were too simple, too comfortable to be Clarke Griffin. She was... Uncomfortable. Campfire-burnt marshmallows and decadent dark chocolate and something spicy he couldn't identify, but god, it was addictive as hell, and he wanted more. He was about to lick at her lips, ask for more, deeper, anything and everything that she'd be willing to give him, when she pulled away, smiling.

"See? You're a natural. And It only gets easier from there."

And with that, he crashed back to earth. It wasn't real. None of it was real. He shook his head, trying to think clearly again, when he realized something. "How come no one's come out here to check on us? Like, your friends, or my friends, or... Because I don't know about yours, but this isn't like my friends. At all. Octavia and Miller, they'd be out here to check in - and make fun of us for making out - in like, two and a half minutes, tops. And your friends don't really seem to be the "hands off" types either."

"Oh! That. My friends knew we needed to have a conversation. If anyone knows how to keep people busy, it's them. We've got another minute or two."

"Do they..."

"Yeah, they know everything. Don't worry, we're real good at keeping secrets. Well, me and Raven are. Monty can keep things quiet if it's really necessary, but no one ever thinks to ask him, and Jasper... Well, you won't have to worry about him." That was something that warranted more questioning, but she moved on quickly, not giving him the chance. "You still haven't answered my question. What are you comfortable with? How are we going to do this?"

Right. This. How they were going to do it. _It_ , being the "pretending to be in a relationship while she helped him stop a corrupt political campaign" it. Not the other it, definitely not that one. The "it" she was referring to, well, he still had no idea about that one. Or the other one. He was definitely, definitely not thinking about the other "it". Well, not much. "Uh....Whatever you think is best?"

"Right. Well, how about this? We play it by ear. I'll lead, and you'll tell me if I push you too far in any direction, if I make you uncomfortable. You say the word, and I'll back off. Sound good? Or, y'know, doable, at least?"

He really, really could have gone his entire life without hearing her say the word "doable" and all of the thoughts that brought to him about all the many, many things he could picture that the two of them might find doable. "Yeah. That - That's doable."

She smiled brightly. "Great! So, do you want to go in now, or wait -" she glanced down at her watch, "about seventy three more seconds, and almost certainly miss the Jasper and Raven show?"

He was kind of afraid to ask, but the curiosity was killing him. "What's the Jasper and Raven show?"

"He's a chemist, she's a mechanic. Between the two of them, they like to make things go boom."

"...Let's wait."

She nodded, keeping an eye on her wrist. When the time had passed, she grabbed his arm and pulled him back in through the door, linking their fingers as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Jasper had taken Bellamy's seat at the table and he had his goggles pulled down over his eyes. Raven and Monty were hiding behind a laminated bar menu, snickering, because Miller and Octavia had both been splattered with... something. Clarke slid into the booth next to Jasper, leaving Bellamy to take the seat on the end, and as he did, he arched a brow in question.

"Not one fucking word, Bell," Miller snarled, glaring at Raven and Jasper in turn.

Jasper hid in Clarke's shoulder like a little kid, but Raven just shrugged.

"You said you wanted to see something go boom. We delivered."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbetaed and all of that. thank you for reading, all feedback is appreciated!! i'd say more but it's 5 am and i'm dead


	9. Chapter 8 - Dry Cleaning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do you admit defeat?" Clarke asked him. She had him pinned to the floor, her hips straddling his, a pillow in hand ready to be slammed into his face if he said no. Things were looking pretty dire for him - he couldn't move, she'd knocked all other pillows out of his reach, and he'd just fully realized the position they were in. His silence seemed to bring that to her attention, too, because a flush crept up her neck to color her cheeks.
> 
> "Yeah," he nodded, swallowing hard. "You beat me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took me so long to write holy shit
> 
> i'm happy with how it turned out, though.

There was more to Clarke and Bellamy's relationship than they were letting on. That much, Octavia was sure of. But she could not, for the life of her, figure out what. Bellamy probably didn't realize it yet, but he was pretty clearly in love with Clarke. Her, well, she was definitely holding something back, and she might not have felt quite as strongly for him as he did for her yet, but she was falling, too. Octavia could see it in the way her eyes softened whenever Bellamy walked into a room, the fond smile that crept onto her face when she was watching him. The two of them were a pair of losers, honestly, but they were losers that were cute as hell together, and they made each other happy, so she kept her mouth shut. The truth would come out eventually.

At that moment, Monty was watching Jasper and Miller bicker - Miller still hadn't gotten over being forced to buy two rounds of drinks for losing a game he hadn't even known he was playing - and she was mediating Raven and Bellamy's heated debate about laser tag strategy. Clarke was running late, and Octavia watched her brother's eyes eyes as they kept flicking to his watch, and then the door, and she marveled at just how utterly gone he was over this girl.

About ten minutes later, she came through the door, wearing workout clothes and carrying an overnight bag. Everyone turned to look, and everyone saw the black eye she was sporting.

Bellamy dropped his conversation immediately and rushed over to her, inspecting her eye closely. "What happened?"

"Today's workout was boxing," she shrugged. "I forgot to keep my hands up."

"Are you okay?"

She leaned up to give Bellamy a kiss on the cheek. "I'm fine, but thank you for worrying. Are you about ready to head out?" He nodded. "Alright then, give me half an hour to shower and change, and we can go."

"Where are you two going off to, again?"

"You remember this, Octavia," Miller cut in. "Bell and I have got a work thing, and Clarke's got some business for her mom in the same city, so she's coming, too."

"Right." That made sense, but something about it all felt a little bit off to her. She usually got that feeling whenever Bellamy was going anywhere with work, but she ignored it. It was mostly just grunt work for a political campaign, and really, how dangerous could that be?

 

Clarke didn't have any business for her mother. She'd made that up so she could go with Miller and Bellamy without Miller asking too many questions. Bellamy had no idea what she was really doing while he was at that god awful dinner party with Miller for the campaign. He just knew that he was bored out of his mind, and was actually kind of wishing that she was there with him. In the few weeks they'd been fake dating, he'd started to get really comfortable with her being around. Actually, he was starting to wish the dating thing wasn't actually fake.

But the second that the two of them were alone, the doting girlfriend act fell away, and she was all business. She was nice, yeah, and they were friendly, but that was the extent of it. Friendly. He was sitting around like a loser, obsessing over her smile, her eyes, the dimple in her chin, and she was just...Working.

And didn't that just make him feel completely fucking useless? He was just going about business as usual, doing almost nothing outside of the norm, and there was Clarke, flitting around in his periphery, almost like a ghost, doing who knew what to fix a problem that he couldn't. It was humiliating, honestly.

He was laying on the bed in the room they were sharing with an arm covering his eyes when he heard her slip in through the door.

"You know, when I agreed to let you help me, I thought I'd be playing a much more active role in this whole thing," he told her. "Not sitting around doing fuck all while you're out being some top-secret sneaky badass."

The bed dipped next to him, and he shifted to see her lying down by his side, head pillowed by her own hands.

"I know," she said, simply.

"That's it? That's all you have to say about it? That you know?"

"Yeah." She must have sensed that he was about to get mad, because she sat up, yanking at him until he sat up too, and faced her. She met his eyes, and he could see her sincerity echoed there. "I know you thought you'd be doing more. I know you feel useless, and you're stressed out, and tired, and probably kind of scared, and the fact that I've been keeping you in the dark is pissing you the hell off. I know. I wish there was something I could do about that, but there's not. That's just how it is."

He just stared at his feet for a moment. "How it is sucks," he mumbled petulantly.

"It does. All of it sucks."

"If you think it sucks, then why do you do it?" Bellamy was a bit confused. She'd never, even for a moment, seemed like she resented her work, whatever it was.

She gave a brief, humorless chuckle. "Pick a cliche, any cliche."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"There are a lot of different reasons I do this stuff, kid. And each and every one of them sounds like a cheesy line from a shitty movie."

"Prove it."

Her eyes widened slightly in what he could only assume was confusion. "What?"

"We're both stuck here for the night, right? I'm pretty sure there's nothing better to do. So you can list all your reasons for doing what you do, and I'll tell you if they're cheesy." And maybe he could use them to fill in some of the blanks in his understanding of her personality.

"Alright."

That turned into a game that lasted about an hour. It ended after a debate about wether "it's in my blood" counted as a cliche or not spiraled out of control and turned into the most vicious pillow fight Bellamy had ever been involved in.

"Do you admit defeat?" Clarke asked him. She had him pinned to the floor, her hips straddling his, a pillow in hand ready to be slammed into his face if he said no. Things were looking pretty dire for him - he couldn't move, she'd knocked all other pillows out of his reach, and he'd just fully realized the position they were in. His silence seemed to bring that to her attention, too, because a flush crept up her neck to color her cheeks.

"Yeah," he nodded, swallowing hard. "You beat me."

"Oh." Her teeth were worrying her lower lip, something Bellamy had learned meant she was thinking carefully. Usually, that was a good thing, but for this? For now? He wanted her to just stop for a moment. And that was the only thing he was thinking when his hands skimmed along her arms, pulled the pillow from her hands and tossed it away so he could link their fingers and pull her down to him so that they were nose to nose. "Hello."

He couldn't help but smile at that. "Hi."

He pulled her closer, so that their noses were touching, and their lips were millimeters apart.

"Wait," she muttered, lips brushing his when she spoke.

"What?"

"I don't know if this is a good idea."

He'd figured she was going to say something like that, but what he hadn't counted on was that she didn't move away as she said it. She was still right there, breath mingling with his, and he almost felt like they were frozen in time.

"Don't know if what is a good idea?"

"This. What we're doing."

He smiled again, the action bringing their lips into contact for a brief moment. "We're not doing anything, Princess. We're just talking."

"It feels like we might be doing more than talking," she breathed. But she still didn't move.

"Maybe we should be."

He slid his hand to her neck, started to pull her in that last little bit, to finally get to kiss her. Not his fake girlfriend, not some mysterious badass, not the princess she pretended to be for the media. Just her. Just Clarke.

Then, she was gone. He glanced around to find her sitting on the ground next to him, clutching her forehead. 

"What's wrong?" 

"I uh. Forgot about the black eye. Then got reminded very, _very_ quickly," she said, wincing, and Bellamy realized that he'd forgotten about it too. She had a way of just carrying on, acting the same way she always did, and it made him see her like he always did. Unbreakable, unflappable, pretty much perfect. Seeing her like that, curled in on herself, taking measured breaths, it shook him.

He sat up and reached out tentatively to touch her shoulder. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Some medicine would be nice. There are some painkillers in my overnight bag, could you grab them for me?" After a bit of rummaging, he found it, and handed it to her.

"You want some water?"

"Yeah. And ice might help, too, if it's not too much trouble."

Five minutes later, they were laying flat on their backs, side by side on the queen sized bed, staring at the ceiling. She had a washcloth full of ice pressed to her eye.

"So, I'm guessing the black eye wasn't from boxing practice?"

She sighed. "Not exactly."

"And I guess I probably can't know how you got it?" he asked, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

She paused. "You definitely can't know the details. But I guess, if you wanted, maybe I could tell you... Something."

 _That_ was interesting. She'd never once offered any information about what she did when she wasn't around him. Had never even hinted at it, really, so the chance to get a glimpse into who or what she really was was something Bellamy was going to grab on to. 

He turned to look at her. "I'd like that."

She kept looking at the ceiling. "I was... Well, I guess you could say I was running an errand, for a family friend."

"Errand? Like, getting groceries, or picking up the dry cleaning?"

She smiled, but she still wouldn't look at him. "Something like that," she sighed. "Anyways, there were some people who didn't want me to get the... dry cleaning. They tried to stop me from getting it. One thing led to another, and I got an elbow to the eye."

He thought carefully for a moment about how to respond. She'd never opened up this much, to him, and he didn't want to send her running. He settled for concise and to the point. "Bummer."

Her smile widened. "Right?"

"So, did your...family friend get their dry cleaning?"

"Yeah, he did," she said, finally turning to look at him. It was like he got the wind knocked out of him, though, because it was like he was seeing her for the first time, and she looked... young. Young, and innocent, and vulnerable, and absolutely exhausted. 

He stood up and stretched. "We should probably get some sleep. I'll take the floor, you look like you could use some rest."

She grinned at him. "Oh, come on, Sleeping Beauty. I'm not _that_ mean. I wouldn't make you sleep on the floor. We can share the bed," she said, patting the space next to her on the bed.

"Well, if you insist."

The two of them got ready for bed quickly, brushing their teeth and changing out of their clothes into pajamas (in separate rooms - Bellamy insisted), and crawled under the covers. He put up a pillow barrier between them, and, after she was finished laughing at him for that, she turned off the light.

"Goodnight, Sleeping Beauty."

He bit back a smile. "Goodnight, Clarke."

 

When they woke up in the morning, the pillow barrier had been kicked out of the way, and Clarke had snuggled into his chest. Not that he was complaining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> random notes: 
> 
> \- the "just talking" thing was 100% inspired by psych and [one of the best romantic tension moments i have ever seen...ever](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ay25uzRGdP0)
> 
> \- Bellamy is a little geek
> 
> \- I like to think that after Bellamy fell asleep, Clarke moved the pillow barrier and snuggled into him imho tbh


End file.
